Unforgivable
by ALoversDream
Summary: Fan Fiction Challenge: Imagine that you find out Dean cheated on you. Dean x Reader
1. Chapter 1

"Alright! Well I'm going to head down to that bar at Second and Ash to ask if anyone's seen anything crazy lately," Dean says casually, his eyes not meeting yours. As if you don't already suspect what he's been up to. As if you haven't already had a hundred conversations with Sam about what you think his brother might be doing. As if Sam isn't fully prepared to follow Dean as soon as he walks out that motel door.

"I'll stay here," you say casually, gesturing to the pile of newspapers, pictures, and open laptops. "There's a lot research to do if we're going to sink this thing properly. Right Sam?"

Sam jumps at his name, stumbling over his words, "Absolutely. Yeah. Don't worry, Dean. Just call one of us if you find anything interesting out."

Dean kisses your lips gently, before grabbing his keys and calling over his shoulder, "Don't wait up!" It's not until the door closes behind his frame that you realize he used to say he loved you before he left. Even if it was just to run to the store. It's as if all your assumptions are true in this one simple act. Your hands begin shaking and you find yourself fighting back tears as you turn to face Sam. His face is serious. He didn't want to be the one to spy on his brother, but when you reminded him how suspicious it would be if you were out in town, considering you always stayed back at the room while they did the preliminary interviews, he finally agreed. It's not that he doesn't believe you; it's that he doesn't want to believe that his brother would be capable of such infidelity.

Leaving quietly, stopping only to say that he'll call you if he sees anything suspicious, Sam leaves, leaving you alone with a pile of research you don't care about and an anxious heart. If what you suspect is true, this is all over. The life on the road, hunting. Waking up every morning to green eyes and freckles. The fierce loyalty that you've grown so accustomed to. In an instant, it could all be gone. And if what you suspect is false, then you have to spend the rest of the time with Dean knowing that you doubted his faithfulness. And that, you suspect, could be the end to your relationship.

You're not sure how long you sit on the corner of the bed, cell phone in hand, waiting for Sam to call. An hour? Three? Glancing at the clock, you sigh softly. Two hours. Two hours, and still you've heard nothing and then, just as you dare to believe that you were wrong, your cell rings. You let your eyes close for a moment before focusing on the name on the screen. _Sam Winchester_.

"Sam?"

Silence follows for a moment, and just as you're about to say his name again, Sam speaks softly. "You were right." He pauses, as if he's struggling with the information as much as you are. As if it's his world falling apart and not yours. "I, um. I took pictures. You know, for proof. So I'm on my way back. Stay there, and don't do anything stupid."

And then there's silence, the line goes dead, and all of a sudden, the full force of what Sam just admitted slams into your chest. Tears build in your eyes, and your throat is burning with the want to scream as loudly as you can. Dean cheated. And Sam has proof. Shaking hands find their way to your hair where you pull at it for a moment before dropping your face in your hands and sobbing heavily. After everything you've been through with Dean, he cheats.

After the night you first met, when a werewolf had you pinned against a brick wall down an alley, and just as you thought for certain that you were going to die at the hands (paws?) of a creature you previously believed to be fictional, a knight in worn-in leather was there, and you were safe. And when you finally fell apart, after fighting and staying strong the entire evening, he didn't push you away, but instead comforted you. Instead, he came back the next morning to make sure that you were okay. Instead, he took you out for breakfast.

After the Christmas that you convinced Dean to splurge for a room that had a kitchen in it, and when he and Sam got back from a rather brutal vampire hunt, walked in the door to a full Christmas dinner, turkey and everything. Presents under the tree, eggnog in a punch bowl on the counter, tinsel hung in the windows. It was the one night that everything felt normal for a moment, instead of so incredibly complicated and chaotic.

After the morning that your mother called to tell you that your father had died, and when you were too hysterical to drive, drove you fourteen hours across the country so that you could be there for his funeral. And attended with you, in suit and tie, so you wouldn't have to put your father in the ground by yourself. And held you when you spent the entire night crying, because you finally realized that your daddy wouldn't be there to help you anymore.

After spending the past six months cooking meals, cleaning up rooms, helping with laundry, facilitating research, keeping the ammo and salt fully stocked, charming older men into telling you information/giving you money/buying you drinks for information.

For a moment, you're so lost in the memories of Dean that you don't hear Sam walk in. It takes him saying your name several times for it to click. And when you snap out of your reverie, begging to see the pictures, Sam shows you regretfully. Dean, arms wrapped around a gorgeous blonde. Lips on her neck, her hands in his hair. Rage bubbles in your throat and you realized what it feels like to be betrayed by the person you trusted the most. But the final picture, the nail in the coffin, is Dean looking over his shoulder as he walks in her front door. Like he's watching his back. Looking for you.

The pain is insurmountable. When Sam reaches towards you to comfort you, you take a violent step back, knocking a beer bottle off the table, flinching as it shatters on the floor. "Don't touch me!" Then with a wince and all your strength, you bend to pick up the glass with shaking hands. Sam grabs the trash can, holding it towards you silently. Desperate to help; smart enough to know better.

And then before you can really accept that this is it, you have been cheated on by Dean Winchester, and your relationship with this beautiful, kind, protective man is over, he walks in the door. A lazy smile etches his lips as he closes the door behind him, which is replaced with concern when he sees the disheveled state you're in. His eyes flit quickly to Sam, who stares back in disappointment.

"Wh-"

"I know what you did, Dean," you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. The pain is shooting through your body with such force your hands are shaking violently, your chest hurts with the ache of knowledge. "Was I not good enough for you?"

And realization hits him. His eyes fill with guilt, confusion.

"I don't understand what she," you punctuate the word by holding up the phone with the picture of him and her. "Has that I don't."

Still no response from the famous Dean Winchester. The one who can spout of a sarcastic line faster than anyone you've ever met in your entire life. Speechless. Not even a lie. He always was a terrible liar.

"I _will not_ come in second, Dean." Your voice cracks at his name. This is it. "I love you," Tears pour down your cheeks, and you have to pause to suck in a deep breath. "but I will not do this."

"Baby, I-"

"Don't you dare 'baby' me, Winchester," you're tearing through the room, collecting items you recognize as your own, shoving them in the closest bag you can find. You don't have a car, but you have money and a phone, and there's a bus station just a few blocks away. You saw it on the way here. "I told you that I don't share. You made your bed, now lay in it."

Pushing past Dean, feeling your heart break into a million pieces as you do, you focus on putting one foot in front of the other. Because you know the second you stop and let him explain himself, you'll forgive him and you'll stay, and you'll go to bed with the man who an hour ago was in another woman's bed. You agreed to love a hunter; you did not agree to love a cheater.

But what hurts the most as you force yourself to leave your world behind you, is the fact that he makes no move to make you stay. For someone who says he cares so much about loyalty and family, he's not doing a very good job of keeping his word. You're half a block away when a car pulls up beside you and slows, and you hear your name called from the window. You're seconds from screaming when you realize it's not Dean who followed you, but Sam.

"I'll take you home. Please get in the car." And though it takes you a moment of serious consideration, you comply. Because Sam, although he's the brother of the last person in the world you want to talk to, was honest and considerate, and nearly as distraught as you were at the news. As you slide in the seat, he says softly, "I can't speak for him, but I'm sorry. You deserve better."

When you don't reply, he shifts out of park and heads towards the city limits. You watch the houses and buildings pass, with one thought assaulting your emotions, "_I may deserve better, but I don't want it._"


	2. Chapter 2

It's been three weeks, and it hasn't gotten any easier. You thought that transitioning back into your old life, quitting the hunter life cold turkey, would be easier than sitting in a cheap motel room listening to the only person you've ever trusted fully to lie to your face. But you were wrong. Every morning is a battle to get out of bed, to drag yourself in the kitchen for a cup of coffee, eventually out the door to mosey around town in a daze. Last week, Sam called four times in one hour, then waited three hours, then called six more. That kind of desperation means you should probably answer, but you're scared of what you'll hear if you pick up. That something happened to Dean. That Dean and that blonde are an official thing and she quickly stepped in as the hunter backup, replacing you so seamlessly, it's like you were never there. That Cas has been asking where you are. So instead of answering, you turned the phone off, shoved it to the back of the drawer, and prayed they didn't show up on your doorstep.

But now, the third week, the 21st day, you need the phone. After basking in self-loathing for the past several weeks, it's time for some sort of rejuvenation. And something tells you that Charlie has just the answer. Sighing heavily, you reach to the back of the drawer, pulling out the phone cautiously and turning it only slowly as if it'll blow up if you're not careful. And surely enough, as soon as the SIM card finishes initializing, it begins to ring. _Sam Winchester_. Heaving a sigh, you hit answer as your eyes flick towards the bag in the corner of the room. It's the bag you packed the night you left, and in your hurry to leave, you didn't realize that not everything you grabbed was yours. When you got home, after crying so long and so hard your eyes were swollen, you unzipped the bag to begin unpacking it and were unceremoniously greeted by Dean's favorite Journey t-shirt. Afraid of what you thought you might find, you left it in the corner of the room, and it's been sitting there ever since.

"Hey, Sam," you answer softly, letting your eyes flutter closed. Immediately you lean back, drawing your knees to your chest and wrapping your arm around them. Closing yourself off.

"Hey! I'm glad you answered. We have a problem," Sam states quickly, his tone rushed. "I think Dean's been cursed."

Silence stretches across the distance for a couple seconds as you try to process what Sam's saying and why he seems to think anything that's happening to Dean pertains to you at this point. "Okay. And you're telling me this because…?"

"Because I don't think he cheated on purpose. It just doesn't make sense. Hear me out," he adds quickly, noting your sharp intake in breath. "Earlier that day, while you were back in the room looking over the police reports, Dean was just telling me about this surprise he had planned for you. He was completely wrapped up in it. And then I left to talk to a witness, came back to find him talking to her, and then everything was off. Immediately it was like he forgot all about you. And over the past couple weeks his obsession with her hasn't faded. He's been going on and on about-"

"Can you get to the point, Sam? I'm sure you mean well, but I really, really don't want to hear about how wonderful she is," you interrupt carefully, hoping your words don't sound as bitter as they taste coming out.

"Right. Sorry. See, that's the thing." Sam's tone takes on a note of excitement. He truly believes he has a case here. "The obsession has been nearly unwavering. And you know Dean, he doesn't obsess like that. It took him how long to make your dates a consistent thing?"

"Four weeks," you say softly, your breath barely above a whisper. "I mean, we talked and flirted, but official dates didn't happen for a really long time."

"Exactly! So within this past week or so, it's been fading. I think this girl is a witch, I think she cursed him, and I think that the curse is wearing off. Which means we have a window of about 48 hours to find her, make sure she is in fact a witch, and kill her before she ropes him back in again."

For the first time in three weeks, you begin to see a glimmer of hope. It all makes complete sense. Even you noticed how quickly his attitude changed from the morning before the left to interview witnesses to the afternoon when he came back. It was unsettling, and not…right. But it never occurred to you that it could be a witch's curse. You weren't there to hunt a witch; you all were there to track down a ghost. Flying into a frenzy, you dive off the bed and zip the bag in the corner of the room. Hunting desperately for keys, you freeze for a moment and say, "Sam? Quick question. How do you kill a witch?"

"Ruby's knife. I mean, that's what we've used in the past anyway."

"I'm going to need to borrow that," you state calmly as you lock the door behind you and haul your things to the car. "Because I'm going to kill that bitch myself."


	3. Chapter 3

Your hands grip the steering wheel so tightly that your knuckles are white. The chance that maybe, just maybe, Dean is innocent, and under a curse is enough to propel you through small towns, across states, through the night. You stop for gas only, so desperate to end this nightmare that food seems mightily unnecessary. At some point, you reached over and turned on the radio, using the strains of Journey's "Lights" to push you forward. You keep seeing the night you left replay over and over in your mind. The way he walked out without even looking back, the way you sat in silence for hours, too scared to do anything productive. The way you fell to pieces when Sam confirmed your worst fears. The look on Dean's face when you confronted him. Guilt and confusion. Unless…

Unless it wasn't guilt. It was pity. He didn't feel bad for what he did, he felt bad for you and your delusions. A burst of anger causes you to press down even more firmly on the gas, watching as your needle rises. 65 to 70 to 75 to 80.

Before you realize what's happening, you're pulling into Rock Springs, Wyoming. Nausea creeps into your stomach, souring your saliva. Fear creeps into your chest, making the act of breathing difficult. If by chance Dean's not cursed, you're going to walk into this situation, potentially threaten to kill this girl, and end up leaving even more brokenhearted then you were before. If Sam's not right…

Pulling into a parking spot at the tiny motel, you get out of the car, pausing only to grab a duffle bag from the backseat. Then striding confidently to the door marked with the number "9", you knock loudly, three times. There's a pause, a mumble that sounds something like "Coming!", combined with what sounds like someone stumbling across the room, before the door swings open and you are greeted with a very sleepy, very disoriented, Sam Winchester. He stares are you for a few seconds before a sleepy smile dances across his lips. "Hey! You made it."

He stands back to let you in, closing the door behind you. You drop your bag on the floor, curling up on the bed that Sam clearly hasn't been sleeping in. The bed that, had you all shared a room, would've been the bed you slept in with Dean. A sharp pain stabs you in the chest as you glance up at Sam.

"Fill me in. What'd you find out?"

Sam drops down on the opposite bed, rubbing a hand across his face. "Uh…Not a lot, but enough, I think. I did some carside surveillance earlier today, and there's definitely something not right. The only way to know for sure if she is or isn't bewitching him is to get inside with the two of them."

You bit down on your lip, weighing through how terrible it will be to stand in the same room as the man you love and _her_. "Okay. So the question is, how do we get inside?"

He shifts uncomfortably, his face turning red as he stumbles into his sentence. "So, uh…I'm, I mean we're, going to have to probably pretend to be…You know. A couple."

For a moment, you think about diving across the bed to slap some sense into Sam, but manage to refrain as you remind yourself over and over that it's the only option. Slowly, hesitantly, you say, "I'm not going to yell at you…but please explain what you mean. More clearly. So I don't have to."

"I just mean," he says quickly, "that me showing up wouldn't be suspicious at all. Dean clearly remembers that I'm his brother. But if you show up by yourself, she'll know something's up. I don't want to make this any worse than it has to be, but Dean doesn't really remember that you were his girlfriend." Sam pauses, working his way around his words, "He knows that you were, but he doesn't remember it being as serious as you and I both know it was."

You nod slowly to assure that you understand what he means, then sigh heavily. "Will you make a plan for us to come over tonight? I'm going to go buy a bottle of wine and scope out the house."

You stand quickly desperate to put some space between you and this room, the memories it holds, and desperate to find out more about how to handle this evening. Pretending to be your boyfriend's brother's girlfriend. Watching your boyfriend drape himself over another girl in front of you. The thoughts swing your body into action. Grabbing your keys off the bed beside you, checking your cell phone's battery, and heading towards the door, Sam calls after you.

"Do you need the address? Of her house?"

Freezing, you turn slowly, a sad smile gracing your lips. "No. I'll just look for Baby. The drive will help clear my head. See you later."

But after circling around town multiple times without a single sighing of the impala, you decide instead to swing by a liquor store and pick out a bottle of wine. It's like picking out what food will be served at your own funeral. While standing in the middle of an aisle, weighing between how dry of a wine you'd like, the bell chimes at the front door and you hear a laugh that you used to fall asleep to. Your heart jumps in your throat as you clutch a bottle of wine in each hand and creep to the end of the aisle to confirm that Dean did in fact just walk in.

And sure enough, Dean and the witch stand a few aisles over. Just as you think you might be able to put down a bottle and slip out, Dean's eyes meet yours and you freeze. Actually seeing him sends a thousand emotions, memories, rushing through your veins. He freezes, causing her to turn around, and they both smile sympathetically at you. The looks on their faces, the arrogance, and the site of them standing together sends waves of anger through your blood. But instead, you smile brilliantly.

"Hi, guys! It's so great to see you!" And then with a sly grin, you say to Dean, "Did Sammy call you? About dinner tonight?"

But instead of Dean answering you, she does. "Absolutely! We look forward to seeing you two. I'm Lorelai."

You work to suppress a grin as you introduce yourself. How ironic that her name is Lorelai. When in middle school, you had an obsession with what names meant and had nearly memorized the baby name book. For example, you knew Castiel meant 'Angel of Thursday', Dean meant 'From the Valley', Sam was a short from of 'Samuel' which meant 'His name is god', and Lorelai? Lorelai meant alluring enchantress. So damn fitting.

Promising to see them both later that night, you pretend to walk casually back to where you were, putting down one of the bottles and keeping the other, not paying much attention to the one you did choose. But when you glance over your shoulder, desperate for another glimpse of Dean, he's watching you carefully, his brow furrowed. As if you're a face he remembers, but can't place. Averting your eyes from his, you walk confidently to the front of the store, but feel your confidence falter when you hear him ask Lorelai why he feels like he knows you so well.

As the clerk rings up the bottle of wine, you strain to hear her words. "Oh, the two of you had a small little fling, no big deal. She really liked you and you weren't too fond of her, poor little thing. Now apparently, she's dating your brother."

When you look back at Dean, he's watching you again, his eyes unbelieving. And then Lorelai grabs his face, turning it to look at hers and his eyes become unfocused, hazy. With shaking hands and more anger than you ever imagined possible, you toss a wad of bills at the cashier, muttering for her to keep the change before you leave as quickly as you can manage. Tossing the bottle of wine in the passenger's seat, you peel out of the parking lot in a cloud of gravel and smoke. And when you see Dean open the passenger's side door of the impala for the little blonde bitch, you turn away quickly and stare straight ahead at the road until the lines dissolve in a cloud of tears.


	4. Chapter 4

Pulling in the parking lot of the motel, you grab the bottle of wine from the passenger seat, slamming the door harder than need be. You open the door to the room, slamming the door behind you, throwing your keys as hard as you can at the pillow on the spare bed, open the mini-fridge and shoving the bottle of wine in to chill. Spinning on your heel, you come face-to-face with a very serious, very unsure Sam. Hands up in defense and all.

"Are you okay?"

"Fucking fantastic," you snap angrily, crossing your arms across your chest. "I drove around forever, couldn't find Baby anywhere, and ended up running into Dean and _Lorelai_ at the liquor store."

Sam sat down cautiously on the edge of his bed, his eyes curious. "And? Find out anything interesting?"

"Yeah," And all of a sudden, your emotions shift again from anger to overwhelming sadness. Eyes welling up with tears, you brush a hand angrily across your eyes. "You were right. He doesn't remember me. But he was trying. He asked her how he knew me, and she lied and then he looked back at me as if he knew she was lying, but she grabbed his face and his demeanor changed and…and…"

Breaking off, you shake your head, turning around so Sam doesn't have to watch you cry. He's silent for a few minutes before he says softly, "He definitely sounds cursed then. So let's make a plan."

Taking several long breaths, you nod and take the seat opposite Sam. "So we pretend to be a couple, sit through an incredibly painful dinner, then attack?"

"Sort of. More like I hold back Dean and you take out the witch"

Nodding slowly, you let out a heavy sigh. Tonight was going to be among the worst nights of your life. But if it meant getting Dean back, you'd go out swinging. There was no way in hell you were letting her keep him. Wiping tears away from your eyes again, you stand, "I'm going to take a shower."

Thirty minutes and a great cry session later, you exit the shower, drying your hair, making it a smooth as possible. Makeup is applied with a careful hand, with constant reminders that your makeup won't stay if you're crying while you're trying to apply it. Then you step into a black dress, the lace one that accentuated your curves perfectly, accented your skin beautifully, dipped in the front and the back, hit above the knee…And required someone else to zip you up. Slipping out of the bathroom, you edge toward Sam, turning away.

"Sammy? Zip me up?"

Silence settles in the room as Sam zips your dress, then touches your shoulder for you to turn and face him. In heels, you're just below chin level with Sam. His eyes watch you carefully before he says, his voice just above a whisper, "We'll get Dean back, I promise. And for all it's worth, you look beautiful." And before you can reply, he pulls you into a crushing hug. "Ready?"

Making sure to grab the wine from the mini-fridge, you follow Sam to your car, where he so chivalrously opens your door for you. Fidgeting in the passenger seat on the way to Lorelai's, you ask as the two of you pull into the driveway, "Did you get the knife?"

Sam laughs, shutting off the car. "Kind of the most important thing about tonight, don't you think? Of course I did."

Rolling your eyes at Sam, but finally managing a smile for what feels like the first time in weeks, you step out of the car, teetering for a moment in your heels before reaching for the wine. Then shutting the door and standing straight, you fix your dress with one hand, then smooth your hair, glancing up at Sam nervously. "I still look okay, right?"

"Perfect." And before you can panic any more, Sam takes your hand and leads you to the front door where you chew on your lip nervously while waiting for someone to answer the door. It was a cute house, you admitted to yourself grudgingly. Small, French cottage like house. Stone on the outside, yellow and white flowers in the flowerbeds, a large, spacious yard with a gorgeous lawn. Truthfully, it was a house that you would've like. You could just imagine sitting in the sunny room, which windows you could see from the porch, reading. Clearly it would be a library, half dedicated to your books, of which included the Supernatural series which you found incredibly funny and heart-warming, the other half for research.

And then before you can get too lost in your dreams, the door opens and Dean stands in the doorway. His face is as beautiful as it's ever been, but his clothes are all wrong. He's in nice, tailored jeans and a blue polo. Which is nice, but not Dean in the slightest. And what's even worse is the way he smiles at Sam, and looks at you with mild disinterest. Furthermore, you really want to know what the giant surprise is that Sam told you Dean was planning.

The two of you are invited inside, where you graciously offer Lorelai the bottle of wine with a smile on your face and a bitter curse in your heart. Over and over you repeat in your mind, every time she looks at you, "_I'm going to fucking kill you_."

The four of you sit down to dinner at a tiny round table in a dining room painted dark red. Again, you picture her blood on your hands. The blood lust, to be frank, is reaching its peak, borderline out of control. Lorelai serves dinner, chicken, vegetables, bread, the wine you and Sam brought. And try as you might, you can't force food past the lump in your throat that you get every time Dean looks at her and melts. At one point, you lift your wine glass, and she reaches over to touch his arm and he laughs, and you have to put the glass back down because your hands are shaking so furiously.

As dinner begins to wind down, Lorelai asks kindly, her blue eyes shining brilliantly, "Tell me how you and Sam got together."

The question is posed innocently enough, but the look in her eyes makes your skin crawl. She knows this is eating away at your heart, clawing at your throat. But instead of spewing the acidity building behind your lips, you smile sweetly and look at Sam, batting your eyelashes. "Sammy, dear. You tell her. You tell the story so much better. And you're so adorable when you're flustered."

At this, Sam blushes brightly, coughing. Then he says confidently, "We just began spending more and more time together, reading and studying, and after a few midnight study sessions, we just realized this connection we had. We love the same things, and both enjoy driving Dean up the wall." He pauses to toss his brother a casual grin before continuing, "But it really didn't happen until a few weeks ago. She had a rough day, and when I hugged her, it's like she fell into place, right where she belonged. It's like everything I was looking for walked in and made herself at home. I've been in relationships before that have ended in a variety of ways, but nothing's quite felt like this."

By the end of his sentence, Sam is no longer telling a story, watching Lorelai and Dean for their reactions. His eyes are focused on yours. His voice is just above a whisper, turning his lines from a play to a prayer. And the look on his face is so heartbreaking, you turn away, smiling brilliantly at Lorelai. "It's just great, you know? Meant to be."

Then with a short sigh, you stand, gesturing to help Lorelai carry plates to the kitchen. She stands, grinning so broadly, you're afraid her face will crack in half. Following her into the kitchen, dumping scraps (most of which includes your plate) into the trash, your eyes catch a hex bag hanging over the lip at the top of the cabinets. Frowning at it for a moment, you lean back against a counter, pointing and asking Lorelai casually, "What's that?"

Her eyes follow your finger to the bag before she smiles simply. If you hadn't spent the past six months living with hunters, you wouldn't have noted the change in her breath. The slight pause before she responded. "An aromatherapy bag. Lavender and chamomile. It's really soothing. I could make you one if you wanted?"

"Absolutely! We'd love that. Really." Crossing your arms lightly across your chest, you glance over your shoulder through the kitchen doorway and catch Sam's eye, shaking your head slightly. You have to be absolutely sure that the bag is in fact a hex bag and not lavender and chamomile before you go off stabbing people. And when Lorelai mentions that she needs to get the ice cream out of the freezer in the garage, you see the perfect opportunity. "I'll get bowls ready for you," you say pleasantly, opening a cabinet to pull out four.

As she disappears, you move quickly, pulling yourself up on the counter to grab the bag, consistently checking over your shoulder for Lorelai or Dean. Then grabbing the bag, you shove it down the front of your dress, easing off the counter just as Lorelai re-enters the house.

"Bathroom?" you ask sweetly. Pointing to down the hall and to the left, you start that way slowly, examining pictures on the walls. But once in the bathroom, you lock the door and tear the bag open, so relieved with what you find that you sink to the edge of the tub and let out a shaky breath. Animal bones. It's a hex bag. Tying the bag closed and dropping it in the trash can, you fix your hair in the mirror and open the door to the bathroom.

To be faced with Lorelai. The sparkle in her eyes is gone, and is replaced with fire. Grabbing your shoulders, she pushes you back into the bathroom. Letting out a yelp, she slaps a hand over your mouth. "Do you think I'm an idiot?" she whispers. "I know what you know. And there's no way you're leaving here with him."

When you open your mouth to defend yourself, at least until you can get the blade from Sam, she slaps you across the face sharply. "Don't even. You have bigger problems than just me to deal with." The fire shifts to malice and arrogance, "Little Sammy has a crush on you. I daresay he loves you. You could have a whole new life with him. Leave Dean with me, and run away with Sam. Then we'll both be happy." It's not a request, it's an order. You stand in silence watching her long enough for her to grown uneasy, and then without a moment's hesitation, you slam your palm into her nose, feeling something crack beneath it. When she lets out a scream of rage, you push past her, struggling in your heels to get to Sam.

Sam and Dean push past each other in the narrow hallway, desperate to find out what's going on. Sam, to see if you're okay, Dean to check on Lorelai. Nodding at Sam, unable to say the words, he grabs Dean by the collar of his polo, pinning him to the hallway wall. Dean's fists fly, catching Sam in the jaw, who miraculously is able to hold his grip on his older brother. There should be sound. Dean's yells, Sam's yelling over Dean, Lorelai's cry of pain, but everything is oddly silent. With some difficulty, he pulls out the blade, sliding it to you across the floor. You stoop, catching it on its way to slide by, before turning around and slamming the full weight of your body into hers.

She slams into the mirror in the bathroom, shattering glass that falls around the two of you. Pinning her against with wall with your arm pressed against her neck, your eyes meet her blue, and you whisper in a deadly tone, "Dean's mine. Hands off, bitch." Before plunging the knife into her stomach. Her screech echoes in your ears as she collapses to the bathroom floor and the struggling in the hallway stops. For a moment, you stand with shaking hands, staring at the woman before you. Your first kill.

Struggling to suck in breaths, you turn and step into the hallway, catching sight of the brothers. Sam's lip is bleeding and Dean is looking around the house as if it's the first time he's ever seen it. Then with more shock than you ever imagined, he looks down at himself and groans, closing his eyes in pain. "What the fuck am I wearing?"

The spontaneity of the situation makes your heart bubble with laughter spilling across your lips as tears stream down your face. He's back. And when his eyes fall on you, in the dress you wore on your first official date, his eyes fill with such love, such admiration that you can't help but stumble across the few feet that lie between you, tumbling into his arms, pressing your lips firmly to his. For a moment, the two of you stand in silence in the hallway, your heart aching at the past few weeks events.

At some point, Sam slipped past the two of you, collecting Lorelai's body from the bathroom, carrying it to the garage to wrap it so it can be burned. You and Dean whisper for several long minutes, you filling him in as few words as you can about what happened. He was cursed, you thought he cheated and left for three weeks, Sam called you, you came back and pretended to be dating Sam to get in the house, discovered the hex bag, and killed the witch.

Dean's pride is so palpable, you can almost taste it. As the two of you step outside, where Sam has single handedly loaded the body in the trunk of the car, Dean asks you to stay on the steps while he inspects the impala for your surprise. Vibrating with happiness, you feel your heart swell in a way it hasn't in such a long time. Your eyes are so focused on Dean, you barely hear Sam step up beside you.

When he says your name softly, you turn to face him, feeling the bubble of your happiness turn to lead and sick to the pit of your stomach. What Sam was saying inside about you…Lorelai was right. He definitely feels something. And now he's going to watch you carry on with Dean, as if this night never happened. Because pretending is much better than talking about it.

"Sam, I'm sorry, I didn't-"

"Don't. Just don't," he interrupts, watching Dean. "It never happened."

And then Dean comes jogging back, his clothes all wrong, but his face, his eyes, his smile, so right. Then with a bright, secretive grin at Sam, he looks back at you and with a deep breath, drops down to one knee, producing a small black box from his pocket.

"Marry me?"

And everything is finally right. Through a mixture of tears and yeses, the ring somehow makes its way to your hand, and your hands tangle around Dean's neck, pulling him up to kiss you. Tears of happiness are streaming freely as you inspect the ring. Gorgeous. Perfect. And a big surprise was right. Sam hugs Dean, his laughter bright, his demeanor pleased.

But when he gives you a congratulatory hug, you feel the tremble in his hands.

No one said loving a hunter would be easy.

But no one said that you'd end up loving one, and killing the other either.

**Thank you ALL for your support! I appreciate how much wonderful feedback I've gotten on this.**

**Now if you love a little bit of love for Dean like the above, check out my other story "So She Did".**


End file.
